Comrades in Loss
by JuliaJekyll
Summary: I feel like the romance between Faramir and Éowyn was unfortunately neglected in the movies, so I decided to try my hand at filling the empty space. The story is set in the Houses of Healing, movieverse. I don't own anything. Reviews would be greatly appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Faramir closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the evening air on his face. He had been a resident of the Houses of Healing for several days now, and although the place was pleasant enough, it was a great relief to be able to stand outside again. The injuries he had sustained at Osgiliath still pained him from time to time, but thanks to the diligent ministrations of the Healers, he was more than capable of walking about the grounds.

He was fully aware of how narrowly, even miraculously, he had managed to escape death, and not just during the slaughter at Osgiliath that had taken so many of his countrymen. He swallowed as he recalled the end of his father, Denethor. Although the late Steward had repeatedly brought pain to the heart of his younger son and sent him on what had essentially amounted to a suicide mission, Faramir still mourned him. He had, in spite of everything, been his father and the last living member of his immediate family.

The loss of Denethor had also reopened the wounds of grief that had been inflicted upon Faramir by the death of his older brother, Boromir, months ago. Not a day went by that Faramir failed to miss him, or think of him. Despite the open favor that Denethor had always shown to his elder son, Boromir and Faramir had loved one another deeply.

Faramir blinked hard as he was assaulted by memories of his brother, who had always tried to help and protect him, even (or perhaps especially) from Denethor. He, Faramir, was truly alone in the world now; an orphan whose only sibling had been cut down during a battle with a group of orcs. His memories of his mother were few, as he had been no more than a child when she had died, but he missed her now quite as much as he did Boromir.

In an attempt to distract himself from the grief and the painful memories, Faramir shifted his eyes to another view and caught sight of someone standing on another balcony. It was a woman clad in a light cotton shift. The light breeze stirred golden hair around her face, and she too was looking out at the starry sky, apparently deep in thought. Faramir watched her for a moment, and then took a step toward the edge of the balcony on which he stood. Toward her.

In that moment, the woman looked up. A pair of sorrowful blue eyes looked directly into Faramir's, and he recognized the lady: she was Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, the shieldmaiden who was responsible for the death of the Witch King of Angmar.

She was so beautiful, and there was such sorrow in her eyes, that Faramir could not help but offer her a half-smile, in hopes that she might return it. She did not; she simply dropped her gaze and turned away.

Faramir felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to go to her, to speak with her. Although the Healers were good about supplying him with news and conversation, he longed to talk to someone else. He could not take his gaze form the head of the White Lady.

Moving with the slight stiffness that was the result of his still-healing injuries, Faramir navigated his way down a short flight of steps and a corridor until he reached the balcony upon which Éowyn stood. Her back was to him, her pale, slender hands spread on the stone railing as she gazed out at the night.

Faramir took a few steps toward her, as one might approach a skittish horse, and cleared his throat before he spoke, not wishing to surprise her. "Lady Éowyn," he said.

Éowyn turned around swiftly, her eyes wide as they fixed on him. Recognizing his face, she inclined her blonde head in a gesture of respect. "My Lord Faramir," she greeted quietly.

Glad that she had not simply chosen to ignore him-he would not have held it against her if she had-Faramir took several steps closer. Éowyn held his gaze warily, but she did not shy away, nor did she give any indication that she wished for him to leave her.

Faramir cleared his throat again, this time from a vague feeling of nervous awkwardness rather than a desire to announce himself. "How are you, Lady?" he asked. A reasonable enough question, he thought; one which presumed nothing and to which she could respond with as many or as few words as she chose.

Éowyn turned her face back to the view and seemed to think carefully about Faramir's question before answering it: "I am alive," she said simply, still not looking at the man to whom she was speaking. She glanced down at her hands, white as the moon against the dark gray stone upon which they rested. "I should be dead." She said this in a way that made it sound like a statement of fact; something one would take for granted until one was presented with compelling evidence to the contrary.

Faramir almost smiled. "As should I," he said. "At least twice over."

Éowyn gave him a questioning glance. Now it was Faramir who looked away. "I was injured at Osgiliath," he explained, "and it is for those injuries that the Healers are treating me. Before I was brought here, however, my father tried to burn my body, thinking me dead."

Éowyn gasped and looked at him with her large blue eyes. "My Lord?" she exclaimed in confused surprise.

Faramir's fingers clenched on the stone, so hard that his knuckles turned white, as he continued: "Gandalf and the hobbit Pippin knew that I was not dead and were able to deliver me from the flames that my father had set." His memory of the flaming pyre was vague; he had been very weak and barely conscious at the time, but he remembered feeling the heat on his skin. He closed his eyes briefly. "My father, however, they could not save," he said. Denethor had been covered in oil from the pyre and had been quickly beset by the fire meant for what he had believed was the corpse of his second son.

Faramir heard Éowyn's sharp intake of breath. "So that is how the Steward of Gondor came to death," she said softly. She raised her eyes once more to meet those of her companion. "My Lord, I am so sorry."

The pain of the memory softened as Faramir saw the genuine understanding and sympathy in the expression of the White Lady. "And I am sorry about the death of King Théoden, My Lady," he replied. "I know that he was a close kinsman of yours. It grieved me to hear that he had fallen."

"He fell in battle with honor, as he wished it," said Éowyn. Her voice was steady, but Faramir did not miss the way she bit down on her lower lip, nor did the fact that her eyes had begun to shine with tears escape him. "As I had wished to do myself," she added, lowering her gaze once more. She blinked several times in quick succession, staring out at the grounds. "I was with him when it happened," she said, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I was there when he took his last breath."

Faramir watched her swallow, sunken in her memories of a raging battle and a dying kinsman. He would have liked to lay a hand on her shoulder, but he thought better of it. "I am grateful that you did not fall in battle, My Lady," he heard himself say. Éowyn's eyebrows drew together in surprise as she looked into his eyes again. Faramir studied her carefully. She had proven her valor when she had entered into battle and slain the greatest of the Nazgûl, along with its beast. Faramir reflected that it was not necessary to die to prove one's courage, as Boromir had done. "My heart tells me that you have more to do ere you pass from this world," he said to Éowyn.

"How can you feel such a thing? You are not so well acquainted with me, My Lord," the lady returned.

Faramir inclined his head. She was right, of course, although for his part, he would wish it otherwise. There was something about Éowyn that drew him to her, as evidenced by the fact that he had chosen to approach her in the first place, instead of leaving her be as she would probably have preferred. "Forgive me," he said.

Éowyn nodded. "With your permission, My Lord," she said, "I shall take my leave. The Healers seem to prefer that I not linger outside."

Faramir bowed as well as he was able after his injuries, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "Of course, My Lady," he said. "I bid you a restful night."

"I bid you the same, Lord Faramir," Éowyn replied. Faramir watched her as she walked inside the Houses of Healing, leaving him on the balcony alone in the night air.


	2. Chapter 2

Éowyn paced her small chamber restlessly, pausing every now and then to stand at the window, close her eyes, and feel the cool breeze. She hadn't really wanted to come inside; she had done so out of a desire to get away from Lord Faramir.  
It wasn't that she disliked the man; she scarcely knew him. It was that, since her Healing after the battle, Éowyn had not particularly wanted to talk to anyone, save the Lord Aragorn. Even her beloved elder brother, Éomer, had quickly wearied her with his overwhelming attentions. The Lord Aragorn, however, was occupied by many other things, and in any case, he loved another.  
Éowyn sighed and leaned her face on her hand as she thought of him. She hated this lovesickness. It was so…un-warrior-like. She was a shieldmaiden of Rohan, not some idealistic village girl.  
She turned away from the window and resumed her pacing. She would simply have to put him out of her mind. No more would Éowyn of Rohan dwell on thoughts of Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Such thoughts would bring her nothing but emptiness.  
She walked over to her bed and lie down, more for lack of anything better to do than because she was tired. After her Healing she had slept away days, with the result that the idea of sleep was now utterly unappealing to her. She stared up at the ceiling, playing idly with her long, blonde hair, and let her thoughts drift.  
The faces of Théoden and Théodred replaced that of Aragorn in her mind's eye, and she turned uneasily onto her side. She still missed Théodred, the beloved cousin who had been more like a second brother to her. The loss of Théoden, his father, was fresher, and it occurred to her that of all people, Faramir of Gondor would understand. He had, after all, recently lost his father, and Théoden had been as good as a father to Éowyn.  
Éowyn sighed as she recalled the face of the Lord Faramir. Perhaps she ought not have been so hasty to be away from him, but she still felt a certain inexplicable desire to keep to herself. Perhaps it was a side effect of the Nazgûl's black magic. Perhaps it was simple grief.  
She remembered the terrible vibration that had gone through her sword arm and travelled with lightning speed through the rest of her body after she had stabbed the wraith. She remembered the weakness that had overcome her, the grief of watching her dear uncle die, the relief that she had at least managed to spare him from the unquestionably dreadful fate of being devoured alive by a Nazgûl's beast…  
The White Lady blinked away that tears that filled her eyes as the passing of Théoden replayed in her mind. She had managed not to cry in front of Faramir, and she wanted to prevent the tears from falling even now that she was alone. She did not want to cry anymore. In this place she had already cried too many tears, just as she had slept for too many hours. She wanted out. She was a shieldmaiden of Rohan, and she wanted to be with her people.  
Sighing miserably, Éowyn got to her feet once more and went to the window. A breeze still stirred outside, and a half moon hung low in the black sky. The unhappy young woman leaned her arms on the sill and rested her face on them.  
A light knock on the door made her turn quickly. One of the Healers stood in the door. "Are you well, My Lady?" she asked in a voice that was somewhere between kind and businesslike. She did care about the state of Éowyn's well-being, but no more or less than she did about that of any of her other charges.  
Éowyn inclined her head. It was true that she felt physically fit, but her emotional turmoil was too great for her to feel that a simple "yes" was an appropriate response to the Healer's question. "As well as can be expected," she said.  
"Do you have any pain, My Lady?"  
"In my heart, though not in my body."  
"You underestimate the effects that one can have upon the other." The Healer came closer. She was older than Éowyn by perhaps twenty or thirty years, and she had large, inquisitive gray eyes in a surprisingly handsome face. These eyes looked directly into Éowyn's as she asked: "Is there anything that I could do to ease the pain in your heart, My Lady?"  
Éowyn thought for a moment and reflected that there was, in fact, something that might help her. Someone, other than the Lord Aragorn, whom she would like to see. "If possible," she asked, "would you bring my dear friend Meriadoc, better known as Merry, of the Shire to visit me? I know not where he is, but he too must recently have been in need of Healing."  
"Ah, yes, the Hobbit. He accompanied you into battle, did he not, My Lady?"  
"He did." Merry had saved her life, at the cost of an injury and his own share of the Nazgûl's cruel power.  
"Very resilient creatures, Hobbits seem to be. Merry was healed…of course, he was not as much affected by the magic as you were. He only injured the wraith; he did not kill it. Master Merry is well again and no longer resides here, but I belive that I can find him for you."  
Éowyn almost smiled at the prospect of seeing her brave friend again. "I would deeply appreciate that," she said.  
"With luck I shall bring him to you tomorrow, My Lady. Will you be requiring anything tonight?"  
"A pitcher of water, perhaps. I do not expect that I shall find sleep this night."  
The Healer's expression became stern. "Lady Éowyn-"  
"I do not require more sleep," interrupted the White Lady. "I require time to think and remember."  
The Healer looked vaguely troubled but did not argue with her. "As you wish, Lady. I shall bring you water and then bid you goodnight."  
"I thank you." Éowyn returned her focus to the world outside the window as the Healer stepped out of the room. It was getting late; few people moved in the grounds at this hour.  
At the edge of her vision, Éowyn saw the balcony upon which Lord Faramir had found her. She leaned out a bit…and saw him, still standing there, easy to see in his light gray garments. Instinctively, Éowyn shrank back, but Faramir's head was bowed, and he made no movement. The breeze stirred his shoulder-length hair around his face, which Éowyn could not see, but he made no effort to brush it away. He just stood, and Éowyn found herself wondering what he was thinking. Was he, like her, prone to recalling and reflecting upon his losses?  
If so, perhaps it would be wise for her to try speaking to him again, the next time an opportunity arose. He understood what it was to lose a father and a brother in a relatively short span of time. He would understand her sorrow, and perhaps in time, he would come to understand her, and she him.  
Éowyn's water was brought. She accepted the pitcher with a grateful nod and poured herself a cup as the Healer departed, but she only drank a small sip before she returned to the window and looked discretely out at Faramir again. She tried to turn her gaze elsewhere, but it kept returning to him, whether or not she willed it to. Grief, evidently, was fascinating to the grief-stricken, and Éowyn could read grief in the Lord Faramir's posture as clearly as the stars in the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everybody!

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's been reading this, especially those of you who have written reviews and followed the story. This is the first story I've written for this site and I rather like it, so I'm glad other people like it too :)

Well, I hope you all enjoy the new chapter! Please R & R!

Hugs,  
JuliaJekyll :D

Faramir had never been prone to nightmares. Neither as a child, when his mother had died and his father had shunned him, nor now as an adult, when he frequently reflected upon the violent ends that had befallen both his father and his brother, to say nothing of the recent slaughter at Osgiliath.

He did have a certain tendency to see things whilst awake, usually when something was weighing particularly heavily on his mind. Sometimes he had more spontaneous visions, like the one of Boromir floating down the river in a boat, his sword held against his chest. The vision that had let him know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that his brother was dead.

That night, however, after he finally went inside and managed to fall asleep a few hours before sunrise, he had a terrible dream. It was not about Osgiliath, nor was it about Boromir or Denethor, as he would have predicted in his waking life that any nightmare of his would be. It was not about anything that had ever happened to him, or even to his family. It was about the Lady Éowyn.

She sat alone on the ground in what Faramir assumed must be the fields of Rohan. A sword lay in her lap, over which she was idly running her hands. It looked as though she had been waiting for something for a very long time and had grown bored of it. She was wearing armor, but her long, blonde hair hung free, unhindered by a helmet and stirring slightly in a breeze that Faramir could not feel.

Confused, Faramir took a few steps toward her. "My Lady?" he called, but Éowyn gave no indication that she had heard him. Glancing down, Faramir noticed that his feet left no impression on the grass.

_How strange_, he thought, as he watched the White Lady, hoping that she would notice him. "Lady Éowyn?" he tried again, but the young woman did not stir.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and Faramir was blind for a moment. However, he could still hear, and what he heard in that moment was the unsheathing of a sword and the shriek of a Nazgûl.

When he regained his sight, Faramir saw that Éowyn was battling the armored, hooded creature, which towered over her. The Nazgûl held a sword in one hand and a mace in the other, and it wore an enormous silver helmet.

"Éowyn!" shouted Faramir, forgetting in his fear for her to use her title. Instinctively he reached behind as though to grab an arrow, but of course he had no quiver and no bow in this place. He still wore the same clothing from the Houses of Healing. He could do nothing but watch as the Lady of Rohan fought the wraith.

Swords clanged against one another as she fought valiantly, but Faramir knew that she would not be able to battle such a being for long. She was, after all, only human, and this was an evil being that had existed for thousands of years. Faramir wanted desperately to help her, but he was powerless.

Éowyn tried to stab what passed for the creature's gaping mouth, but the Nazgûl blocked her sword and swung his mace at her. Faramir watched in horror as she ducked the blows, but finally, awfully, the wraith met its mark…

Faramir awoke, panting in terror, covered in cold sweat. He put a hand to his forehead and sat up, leaning forward, breathing heavily, and trying to regain control of himself and his thoughts.

He ran his hands over his face, struggling desperately to understand what this dream might portend. It could not be a dream of the future; the White Lady had already battled the Witch King. It could not be a dream of the past, because the creature had not killed her; she had triumphed over it. She still lived. So what did it mean? Was it a premonition of some future danger that Éowyn might face? Or was the fact that something happening to her had literally become the stuff of nightmares for Faramir simply an indication of how powerfully drawn to her he felt?

Faramir wiped the sweat off his brow with his wrist. He didn't understand the dream, but it had awakened in him a desire to see Éowyn, if only to know beyond any doubt that she was safe and that no further evil had befallen her. But he could hardly just walk into her room, even if he knew where it was, which he did not. She was probably asleep; a glance out the window revealed that it was not yet dawn.

Faramir lay back down, although he knew that he would find no further sleep. Closing his eyes, he pictured the Lady Éowyn before him, beautiful and alive. Of course she was safe, he reminded himself. She was in the Houses of Healing, just as he was.

Éowyn was sitting on her windowsill and had been there without moving for at least two hours. She had not slept at all and she did feel a certain tiredness, but it was vague and inconsequential enough that she could ignore it. Far more present were her feelings of grief and the need to reflect upon all that had happened. She was plagued with worry, as well, for she knew that the evil in the East had not yet been ended. Since killing the Ringwraith, she had a stronger sense of the Enemy than ever before. She believed that some part of the wraith's magic still dwelled inside her and would perhaps stay there for as long as she lived.

She remained on the windowsill for a few more hours before she heard a knock on the door of her chamber. "Enter!" she called.

The door opened, and Éowyn turned to see her Healer in the threshold. "Good morning, My Lady," she said.

"Good morning," replied Éowyn automatically.

"Are you well?"

Éowyn nodded. After her night of reflection she did indeed feel well, or at least, more so than she had felt the day before.

"Well, I have brought a visitor that I hope will improve your condition still further," smiled the Healer. She opened the door wider to reveal the Halfling at her side.

"Merry!" cried Éowyn, rushing to embrace her friend. It was not an entirely proper thing to do, but she had broken the rules before, and she was simply so happy to see him that it was all she could do.

The Halfling looked up at her, and Éowyn smiled for the first time since before her Healing. "Merry! You're here! How are you?"  
Merry returned her smile. "Well, My Lady," he said.

Éowyn's smile broadened. "You're Healed?"

Merry nodded. "Yes. We Hobbits are not easily brought down, My Lady, whatever our stature might suggest."

Éowyn laughed, and the sound was a surprise to her own ears. When was the last time her heart had been glad enough to allow her to laugh? She no longer remembered. "Oh, it's so wonderful to see you, Merry," she said.

"I have been worried for you, My Lady. When I heard that you were still here, I feared that you might still be injured, but you look healthy."

"I too have been Healed," replied the Lady, "Or at the very least, my body has, but still they do not release me. I think they fear that some dark magic still lingers within me…or perhaps they are concerned that, should they let me go, I would ride once more into battle!"

"Would they be wrong with such a guess, My Lady?" asked Merry with a grin.

Éowyn laughed again. "Almost certainly not. I am a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, after all." She looked more seriously upon Merry before asking:

"What news of the…of your friends?" She had sworn to herself to think no more of the Lord Aragorn, but should Merry happen to mention whether it went well or ill with him, she would not mind.

"Pippin is well. Of the other members of my kin, the other Hobbits, we have heard nothing," reported Merry, a hint of worry in his eyes. "The last I heard, it goes as well as can be expected with the rest of our companions-Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli son of Gloin."

Éowyn could not help a small sigh of relief upon hearing that nothing had happened to Aragorn. Reaching down, she took Merry's hand. "Will you walk with me, my friend?" she asked. "Restless though I am in this place, it is pleasing to the eye."

"Of course, My Lady," said Merry.

Merry and Éowyn walked together and talked of many things for a few hours, until the time came for the Halfling to depart. He promised that he would return to her soon if circumstances allowed, and then he left.

With her friend gone, Éowyn felt restless and melancholy once more, but her spirits were still higher than they had been the previous day. She could not seem to get her fill of the outside air, so she walked once more about the grounds after having eaten some food. She still had not rested and was beginning to feel tired, but she knew that she would not be able to sleep restfully even if she tried. Merry's visit had been a reprieve from her sorrow, but not a cure for it. She still wished to remain awake, to watch, to remember.

She was walking along what had probably been a thriving garden at one point in time when she recalled her decision to try and speak with the Lord Faramir. She no longer felt the slightest reluctance to do so and could in fact scarcely conceive of why she had been so keen to avoid him the previous evening. She remembered him standing on the balcony, thoughtful and motionless…and she wanted to understand his pain, as she wanted her own pain to be understood.

She sighed. Of course, now that she actually wanted to see him, he was nowhere to be found…


	4. Chapter 4

Faramir paced restlessly about his chamber, ignoring the occasional pain in his right side. He could not stop thinking about the Lady Éowyn. Worrying for her.

After some contemplation he felt sure that his dream had signified that Éowyn was still battling something, something that threatened to overtake her. It was driving him mad to wonder whether there was anything he could do to prevent it.

For he was beginning to understand why he had dreamed of her, why his mind continued to dwell on her: he was falling in love with her, or perhaps already had fallen in love with her. He hadn't known that it was possible to fall in love so quickly, particularly during such dark times, but the bravery, sadness, and beauty of the White Lady had captivated him.

He lowered himself stiffly onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. Why this woman? Why now? He knew not. But he knew that he needed to see her. If there was anything that he could do to keep her from being consumed by whatever it was that was trying to consume her, he did not want to waste any time. He wondered whether one of the Healers would tell him where she was if he asked.

Rising once more, he left the room and began walking slowly through the stone halls. As he had predicted, it was not long before one of the female Healers crossed his path.

"Pardon me, Madam," he said, "do you happen to know where the Lady Éowyn of Rohan is? I would speak with her."

"Lady Éowyn is not in her chamber, My Lord. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that she is in the gardens…or at least, what used to be the gardens. For you know, ever since-"

"Thank you," said Faramir, and walked swiftly past her. He was usually loathe to interrupt people, but the verbosity of the Healers was well known, and he wanted to reach the Lady Éowyn as soon as possible.

As the Healer had said, he found her in the ruined garden. Her back was to him and she was walking slowly, as though deep in thought. A strong feeling of relief washed over Faramir; so far, his dream seemed not to have signaled anything too sinister. Clearing his throat, Faramir called out to her: "My Lady!"

Éowyn turned immediately and upon seeing him, she smiled. "Lord Faramir!" Quickening her pace, she walked over to join him. "I was searching for you."

"You were?" asked Faramir, surprised.

Inexplicably, the White Lady blushed. "Yes, well. I…would you like to walk with me?"

"Yes. I would."

They walked slowly, for they had no need of haste. They were not headed for any particular destination, and no one awaited them. Two people who had so often had to worry and be there for others could now simply be among themselves.

It was Éowyn who first looked over at her companion and said "You grieve, My Lord. I can see it in your eyes."

The eyes in question, light gray in color, turned to her. "I can see the same in yours, My Lady," replied Faramir.

Éowyn turned away, but after a moment, she spoke again. "I miss him so much."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"I speak of Theoden, my uncle and my King. I think about him every day." Her hands clenched reflexively and she sighed. "He is with his fathers now," she said softly. "That's where he told me he would go."

Faramir watched her face carefully, now lost in thoughts of his own father. Mithrandir had told him that Denethor would remember his love for his younger son before the end, but Faramir had seen little evidence of that.

Éowyn seemed to notice his changed mood and stopped walking, looking up at him with a gaze so intense that it seemed as though she were trying to map his very soul. "What is it?"

Faramir sighed. "I envy you," he admitted. "I envy you the certainty that the man you loved as a father loved you in return."

Concern showed in the shieldmaiden's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Boromir was always my father's favorite. He was the hero and I the failure, and my father never left any question about that. He told me that he would have exchanged my life for that of my brother, had it been possible, and I know that he spoke the truth."

Éowyn's eyes widened. "How cruel," she said. "And it was always so?"

Faramir nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I am sorry." Éowyn held his gaze. Neither of them moved. Each saw only the pain in the eyes of the other.

"I am glad that you found me today, My Lady," said Faramir.

Éowyn smiled. "I believe it was you who found me, My Lord."

"Well. There is much that I would say to you."

Éowyn tilted her head. "Oh?"

Faramir nodded. Then, carefully, he reached down and took Éowyn's hand. When she did not pull it away, he raised it up and placed it gently on his chest, directly over his heart. "Lady Éowyn," he said, "I want you to know that you have my heart. You may break it if you wish; there is nothing I can do to prevent that, if it is your will. But I wanted you to know." He smiled at her, and then let go of her hand. His heart pounded as he watched the face of the White Lady, alert for the slightest change in expression that might tell him whether she would be angry at his confession, or confused, or even whether she felt the same.

And then, after a long and uncertain moment, Éowyn smiled back. Her blue eyes regarded him warmly as she took his hand in her own once more. Then, to his amazement, she moved closer, leaned her body against his, and rested her head at the base of his throat.

Briefly surprised, but also incredibly happy, Faramir leaned his face against Éowyn's blonde hair. He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle warmth of her body against his own, and sighed with a kind of relief that he hadn't been aware he could feel.

After a moment of silence, Éowyn moved away so that she could look up at him. "Will you come inside with me, My Lord? It grows colder."

Faramir and Éowyn spent the remainder of the day in the chamber of the White Lady, where they talked of many things: their respective upbringings, Denethor, Boromir, Theoden and the curse which had been put upon him by Saruman and maintained by Wormtongue, Éomer, Meriadoc, Peregrin, and so forth. Not a word was said of Mordor or of the evil that continued to grow there.

At length, Éowyn lay back on her bed and closed her eyes, exhausted from her self-imposed lack of sleep, the grief, and the talking. By that point it was late, and the moon had risen.

Looking down at her, Faramir smiled. Seeing that she was soon to fall asleep, he said "I shall take my leave of you now, My Lady," but Éowyn reached out and caught his hand.

"Faramir," she said sleepily, addressing him for the first time by his given name and not his title, "will you stay with me?"

For a moment, Faramir could only stare. "Are…are you sure?"

Éowyn opened her eyes, and a tired smile played about her lips. "Yes. Please?"

Faramir nodded his surprised but willing assent. Éowyn moved aside to make room for him, and he slid into the bed beside her, pulling the blanket over both of them. Éowyn moved close to him and laid her head on his chest. Tentatively, Faramir draped his arm around her waist. When she did not object, he kept it there. Gently, he kissed her on the forehead.

That night, in the arms of Faramir of Gondor, Éowyn of Rohan found her first restful sleep since she'd been Healed, for now, her heart had found healing as well.

Mae govannen, everybody!  
And there you have it; my idea of how Faramir and Éowyn fall in love in the movie! I think this couple is kind of known for falling in love quickly but intensely, so that's what I tried to go for. I couldn't resist the 'man puts woman's hand on his heart' thing; I think that's about the most romantic gesture on the face of the planet, and I feel like it's something Faramir would do. And yes, you guessed it, I based the scene in the garden off the extended edition scene from Return of the King :D  
This isn't quite the end of the story; I'm either going to do another chapter and an epilogue or just an epilogue, depending on what ideas I come up with (and your opinions in reviews, question mark?)  
Thanks again to everyone who's reading this! Reviews would be about as high on the fabulousness scale as Thranduil. Which is saying something.  
'Til next time!


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